She rounded the corner to Louise’s house. The roses around the corner house were stunning. She stopped the car, even though she was already late picking up Louise.
She rolled down the window in hopes of smelling the array of roses stretching from one side of the large yard to another. Red, yellow, pink, a melony orange, white: the colors spread like a rainbow across her view.
She took a deep breath and suddenly felt calmer and . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the roses.”
After all of the excitement of graduation and moving on to our new lives, Joel is the only person who remains in this empty room with me. With a sad desperation I reach toward Joel. I bury my face in his starched white button-up shirt, and the tears begin. I hug him tight. The roses in my corsage are crushed.
“Take time to smell the roses.” is advice I’ve heard all my life. It’s a wonderful concept we often forget as we go through our hectic, obligation-filled lives. I have finally learned how important it is and allow myself time to appreciate the good things in my life.
Rose’s was a ramshackle tavern just outside of Ft. McCutcheon, Alabama. The exterior was so dilapidated that even the most dedicated local pub crawlers avoided its threshold. It was also one of the few places on earth where Special Operations soldiers, young and old, could relax with their own kind.